


The First Resurrection Case

by MissFenixx



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternative realities, Angst, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Eventual Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure John Lennon, John Lennon Lives, John Lennon's Death, M/M, Oh wait, Other, Past Drug Addiction, Past Drug Use, Past eating disorder, Paul McCartney Dies, Resurrection, Sad John, but not really, more of a fluff, not really an angst tho it starts sad, that covers it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:35:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 18,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23159398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissFenixx/pseuds/MissFenixx
Summary: «…And now he was alone by choice, again, on the day of his birthday. It had been a lifetime since he’d had a birthday cake, but this time around he decided the number 80 deserved a special treat. One he’d been postponing long enough.He was craving gunpowder.How poetic.»In a world in which John lived and Paul died, John decides that 2020 will be his last year on Earth. He doesn't care to continue to live wishing he'd been the one to receive the bullet.On a separate, alternative world, John has been dead for 40 years, while Paul still lives. In Paul's case, though, his death is not planned.Brenda, the worlds-watcher, knows it. But she's a fangirl. And she hates the ending of the story, so she decides to plan a happy ending for John. He'll just have to convince Paul to live another 40 years with him first.[This work has been fully re-written as I'm not fond of this version, and can be found under the name of "Resurrection" in my works.]
Relationships: John Lennon & Paul McCartney, John Lennon/Paul McCartney, John Lennon/Yoko Ono, Linda McCartney/Paul McCartney, Paul McCartney/Nancy Shevell
Comments: 22
Kudos: 80





	1. Happy Birthday.

John was miserable. He had been so for, approximately, 40 years.

It had been 39 years and 11 months since Paul had been shot.

39 years and 11 months of empty rooms and hollow conversations.

And now, the day before turning eighty, John realized _he_ was the empty and hollow one. And once more, he decided nothing and laid on his bed a little longer, wishing he’d been the one.

Wishing he had gone on those damn holidays and been the victim to that crazy man’s ambitions. But instead, it had been Paul who had worried when John refused to leave the house and came to visit. And really, any beatle worked well enough for the man. Fame was fame.

Except no one pronounced his name ever again. It had been John’s very emotional wish for the rest of the world. Give that man nothing.

And Paul had been dead. Paul, the farm husband and father of four children; Paul, the warmest and brightest human being to ever come to existence; Paul, the best musician to live in that century, and the workaholic who would always leave the world a little better place after each creation. That Paul was gone. And instead, there he was, John Lennon, a depressed artist who had barely managed to raise one child half-well, had failed as a husband to the woman he loved the most (because, turns out, she wasn’t the _person_ he loved the most) and had then fallen into bad drug habits that almost killed him, as well as that ‘starving is bad’ thingy he’d gone through. He had barely made any music after the Beatles, and none of it was half as good as one of Paul’s solo works. He was a mess. He shouldn’t be the one living.

And yet, after all that time, there he found himself another morning in the huge house in L.A., all alone in that king-sized bed, and dreading his 80th birthday. It was today and, to be honest, John was surprised he’d lasted so long. He’d expected to die from the starving, then the drugs, then the cigarettes, and all that’s what had kept the idea of suicide at bay. Now, at eighty, he’d started to reconsider.

George was dead. He had been for about nineteen years. Ringo was very much alive, doing his thing and being by far the most successful one now (although John was sure that, if Paul had lived, there wouldn’t have been a competition even against that musical monster), but they hadn’t talked in decades. And Yoko had gotten a divorce after her husband started turning deep depression into a serious drug problem, taking Sean with her. He’d seen his son every weekend once he had recovered, until the little man became a big man and started his own life, paying his father several visits whenever he was around. He was the only person who loved him, really, if John let himself hope for so much.

He’d made up with Julian, though. It was very hard at the beginning, sure, but in the end he got to meet the lad and see him every now and then until their bond strengthened as much as it would ever do. It was nice. They weren’t close like they were with Sean, but they were buddies. And he made up with Cynthia too, though that relationship was very spiky.

All of those changes had been encouraged by George back in the nineties, and he’d taken his time to comply. But not long enough to miss George’s proud smile.

But that had been a lifetime ago.

And now he was alone by choice, again, on the day of his birthday. It had been a lifetime since he’d had a birthday cake, but this time around he decided the number 80 deserved a special treat. One he’d been postponing long enough.

He was craving gunpowder.

How poetic.

The day started off easy enough, with John waking up a couple of hours before midday and staying in bed, depressed, until the first hours of the afternoon. That’s when he started receiving the birthday calls, wishing him a great day and all that crap. He tried to keep a cheerful tone and told them that he’d spend the day relaxing and breathing the air of this new decade. ‘I’ve breathed the air of too many decades’ he bitterly thought.

It wasn’t all that bad; he knew that. He’d had many good years. He’d even dated a few women after all that Yoko mess. He’d had many years worth of therapy and he’d taken to painting for a while, making a living out of it. He’d had a peaceful few years away from the city, though not exactly in the countryside, and he’d been able to enjoy himself again. He knew it wasn’t the same as it had been when Paul existed, yes, but it had been something. He’d even become friends with Linda and helped her and her kids through some hard times after he recovered from drugs. He had even let himself get convinced by his friend David Bowie to go on a tour with him in the late eighties, and he’d had a good time. He didn’t write many new songs on his own, but he had fun doing some with Bowie.

He’d had some good times. It was hard to understand, then, why it had gotten so bad as the years rolled by. The older he got, the lonelier he found himself: some of his friends died, some found peace in their home and found no need to bother visiting him, and some just… fell away. He had a painful time accepting he’d not made any close friends after Paul’s death: they always seemed too far away. The kind that you laugh with, but don’t cry with.

And now he was alone, and all of his mind came back to the happiest days of his life. Which were, of course, with Paul.

He hadn’t questioned it enough back then, if it had been something more than friendship to him. He’d only known that he loved Paul way too much, more than the boy could correspond, but he had ignored the meaning behind it. He didn’t want to know it.

As the years rolled by, though, he understood that he wasn’t all for women only. He’d toyed with that side of himself a few years before Paul’s death, during his ‘lost weekend’, and found a new life inside of him.

But Paul? He didn’t know. It didn’t feel the same. It wasn’t as it had been with Yoko, pure passion and wild love. In a way, it was less intense yet stronger: it had lasted years and taken everything in him with it. He loved Paul. He loved him more than he could ever love again, more than he’d ever loved before. And yet, he wouldn’t dare categorize it as a romantic thing, because that wasn’t enough. It wasn’t only someone to kiss, to sleep with, to laugh with, live with, compose with, hold hands with. He’d managed many years without most of that and had been ok, mainly. It was just being with him in the same room that soothed him, smelling him that made him smile, exchanging glances with him and communicating a world. It was that kind of connection that he could only categorize as soulmates. And although the word didn’t cover it all, he knew that it ment more than friends, more than a couple, more than partners. It ment two halves of a whole.

He knew, deep down, that it wasn’t the exact same to Paul as it was to him. Paul’s soulmate had been Linda. And yet… John knew no other to fill that space inside of him. He regretted now, as he had for so many years, having acted on jealousy so often, ruining things between them slowly but surely. He found himself celebrating his 80th birthday and wishing to be best friends with Paul McCartney again. He sometimes worried who he would share his piece of heaven with, if Paul was Linda’s. That is, if he ever made it to heaven.

He wouldn’t, now.

He sighed as he entered the kitchen to make himself some coffee. He wasn’t hungry: his birthday depressed him to no end. He smiled bitterly to himself while thinking of adding his name to the numberless members of his family who’d ended their lives. Well, isn’t genetic inheritance a bitch.

Someone knocked the door. John stopped dead in his tracks, coffee cup half full. He had explicitly asked for everyone to leave him alone on this day, and he frowned as he walked towards the door on his pyjamas, weighting the idea that it might be a fan. If he still had any (he did, he’d received tons of gifts from them, he was just being a depressed bitch).

Behind the door was a small woman, and he instantly knew that she wasn’t a fan.


	2. Brenda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, this can be a bit confusing, but it's the explanation as to how what I want to do would work :)   
> I think I managed to make it a bit funny, tho <3 (well, I laughed)

‘Can I help you?’

‘John Lennon, yes?’ she smiled brightly ‘My name is Brenda. A pleasure to meet you’ she held her hand out, and John hesitated a second before taking it.

‘I’m sorry, but I’m not taking any visits today. If you want an autograph, or a picture…’ She was shaking her head.

‘Oh, no! Don’t worry about that, I’m not here as a fan. I’m sent to deliver a message, hum, a proposition really, that I think you’ll love to consider’ her bright smile again. John frowned.

‘Sent by whom?’

She tilted her head.

‘That’s going to be hard to explain. Can I come in and we’ll talk more comfortably?’

John hesitated again, but finally stepped aside to let her in. He had no idea why he was behaving so recklessly, but he had nothing to lose, did he? This was, after all, his last day on Earth. He told himself that but, as he followed her to the living room, he knew he was acting on instinct. She gave him such a powerful vibe… He felt like he should listen to her, at least.

‘I must say, happy birthday! For many years to come!’ John winced.

‘Yeah, thanks. Hum, please take a seat’ he gestured towards the sofas arranged in the living room around a coffee table and in front of a cold fireplace ‘Do you want anything? Tea, coffee? I think I have some cookies…’

‘I’m good, thanks’ she smiled warmly ‘But go get yours, it’ll grow cold. You should eat something too’ she eyed his bony figure. He’d regained a healthy weight a long time ago, but around his late seventies he’d finally lost his appetite. Crazy how many years he’d struggled against it to now randomly lose it at an advanced age.

John brought his coffee cup to the table, as well as another one for Brenda (he would NOT be the only one consuming) and the after-mentioned cookies. She smiled knowingly and thanked him, taking a cookie. Ha.

‘So…’ John looked at her with questioning eyebrows.

She swallowed the cookie, took a sip of coffee and smiled widely again.

‘I’ve brought you a gift!’ she was as excited as a child. John began to worry she was, after all, just a fan, and frowned.

‘Oh, hum…’

‘Don’t worry’ she shook her head, laughing ‘It’s not what you think. This, hum… This is going to be hard to believe, I know, but… Who sent me is not from here. They’re… Let’s say, in charge of many things, hum… In this world. Many versions of it, anyway…’

What? Brenda raised her eyes and sighed at John’s expression.

‘Ok, basically, heaven sent me’

A pause.

‘What?’ John was starting to think that she was worse than a fan. Brenda made a face.

‘What accent do I have?’

John’s mind went blank. What accent…? He couldn’t… He didn’t know. He was listening to her, had been for all the time she’d been there, and she had a calm, sort of melodic and yet high-pitched voice, but the accent? His mind couldn’t categorize it as anything at all. He blinked, and Brenda half-smiled, a bit uncomfortable.

‘How old am I?’

‘14?’ he realized as he said it that it was wrong. She looked young, in a way, but at the same time she didn’t. She was very short, yes, and had chubby cheeks, but she wasn’t 14. ’30? 45? No, wait’ She wasn’t 45, but she did look like she had lived many years. Although there were no wrinkles on her face… How old was she? What?

She smiled, pity in her eyes.

‘Exactly. I’m not exactly from here (although I’m not from anywhere now), but that’s another tale. What I need you to understand is that, right now, I’m only acting as an emissary from heaven to transmit an offer. The thing is, you see, we don’t want you to kill yourself. We don’t want you to go to hell and all…’

John had been trying to blink past the too weird experience he was living and decided not to think about it too hard. He’d just go with it for now.

‘Who’s ‘we’? I thought intervention was like, a forbidden thing.’

Brenda winced. Ooh, we’re going off the book here.

‘Yeah, well, ‘we’ is me. I’ve been, ahem, following your story as well as Paul’s and all and hum… You see. I have a job. It’s not in heaven, but bigger than that (quick insight: there’s more than one heaven) and I’ve been doing a hell of a good job. Granted, there’s certain things that I can’t (no one can) do, because they’re off the books.’ She seemed to struggle to find the words, and finally she sighed and put her cup down ‘Ok, listen, my job is to keep time and space continuity. Have you heard of the parallel universes theory? This, hum, quantum physics stuff?’

She looked at him, waiting for an answer, and he nodded behind his coffee cup.

‘Well, that’s all real. What I do is to try and keep it healthy, you know, with no cracks in time and space. The things that crack them are forbidden to do, like some forms of resurrection and so’

John quirked an eyebrow.

‘Some forms?’

‘That’s where we’re getting at’ she took her cup again and sipped ‘You see, I’m a big fangirl. Not only of The Beatles, but of many, many people, and I often have to refrain myself from acting on their behalf. But I’ve learnt to see beauty in reality as it is, as it should be, and I’m good with it. Except…’ she made a vague hand gesture in John’s direction.

‘Except for me?’ John questioned in an amused tone. This was hilarious.

‘Well’ she frowned, exasperated ‘This is the worst life for you. Believe me, I’ve been through most of the parallel realities regarding you, and this is way too shitty. And the worst part is, it’s the second most likely to happen’

‘What?’ What?

Brenda shook her head ‘It’s, hum… Man, how do I explain this. Remember the parallel realities? Well, they’re in order. The first one is the most likely to happen, it’s like… It’s like the cat of Schrödinger. When you put the cat in the box with the venom, half chances are he’s going to die and half that he’s going to live. But if you, I don’t know, add more poison, it’s more likely that the cat will die. Both options co-exist, and so the cat is both dead and alive in two parallel realities, but the one with the most chances to exist is the one in which the cat is dead. Follow?’

John blinked and took a few seconds to process it as he sipped his coffee. Finally, he nodded slowly. ‘I think so, yeah. So this reality now, it’s the second most likely to exist? So, the second more real, let’s say?’

‘Something like that, yeah’ Brenda seemed relieved.

‘Which one is the first one?’ the girl tensed and moved on her seat.

‘Well, that’s what I’m here for, really. The first one is that in which you die, instead of Paul’

She wished she had been more surprised when she saw John smile with relief.

‘Oh. Did he make a good life?’

‘He did, yeah’ she answered, slowly ‘But now, hum, he’s 78. He’s still active, but he only has about a month to live before… Well. And you, too, die today. You want to kill yourself, right?’

No point in denying it, so John just nods.

‘Well. What will happen if it all continues its course, is that Paul will go to heaven with Linda and you’ll go to heaven alone, without your soulmate. Becau…’

‘Wait, what? Heaven? Won’t I go to hell?’ Brenda looked at her hands, nervous.

‘Yeah, well, that doesn’t always apply. God is much more than what men interpret of him… Not all of those who kill themselves go to hell. I don’t make the rules’ her eyes were all innocence when she looked up, and John quirked his eyebrows.

‘Anyway, there can’t be heaven for a person without their soulmate. If they’re still alive, they can wait for them, but at some point they’re bound to spend eternity together. The problem here, is that Paul already has a soulmate, and so you can’t keep him as yours. Now, that in itself is a break in the rules, and I managed to use that…’

‘To break them even further?’

‘Oh, sod off! You want Paul or not?’

‘You really are a fangirl’

‘Listen, you prick’ John was laughing, and Brenda broke her frown to repress a smile ‘You’re such an annoying… Anyway. Look what I fucking got you. This reality, even beyond you, is a lot shittier than the one Paul is in’

‘Doesn’t surprise me. He changes things for better’

‘And’ she ignored him ‘He’s made a lot more with his life than you have, and so the petition was that you went to his world…’

‘What? Wait, we’ll only have, like, two days left to live together…’

‘AND that you two turn back your biological clocks to December 8th of 1980, and live forty years (maybe more, depending on how your change of choices affects your body) together. You won’t go back to 1980; you’ll live as 38 and 40-year-olds in 2020. We’re gifting you half a life, really. Now…’

‘This is the longest hallucination I’ve had’

‘Now, you’ll have to convince him. You…’

‘He lives in another parallel reality’

‘The next time you interrupt me, I’ll cut your ears. You’ll dream of him, and he’ll dream of you every night during the following month: you’ll communicate with him then and convince him.’

‘But how the hell will he believe a dream?’

‘Yes, well. I’ll help you with that’ She smiled.

That night, John sat on his bed and tried really hard to remember which drug he’d taken, but nothing came to mind. It had been the most vivid hallucination he’d ever had.


	3. Hallucination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of Paul's POV :)

Paul had been reading a book when he had the hallucination.

He’d been dreaming an awful lot of John lately, to be honest. He hadn’t lied in that interview: it seemed the older he got, the more he dreamt about his old dead best friend instead of his dead wife or his mother, or even George. No, it was always John.

Most of them, in the beginning, were memories from their earlier days together, from days in the band, composing, to making the movie or just sleeping at a hotel. Just random moments of what he realized now was happiness, which made him terribly nostalgic and yet weirdly warm and content. Those were good days, and it was nice to have them come back to him.

Some, a few, were from his childhood or early youth: composing with John at the strawberry fields, waiting for the bus at Penny Lane with him, getting drunk in Hamburg with him… Even when he dreamt of times before he’d met John, the lad was always there. It was weird.

But not as weird as the third kind of dreams.

In those, John just showed up at a random location from his memories and hugged him, crying, or shook in desperation as he made him run with him from an invisible threat to then stop dead on his tracks and frown, confused (then Paul would wake up). Lately, though, John had been talking a lot of nonsense.

But it got seriously alarming when he hallucinated John.

He’d been in the living room of his house, reading some Stephen King, when he heard someone having a coughing fit and looked up, startled, to find 40-year-old John sat at his sofa right in front of him, wearing the exact same clothes he’d worn before he got shot on that fateful night. He was reading the exact same book as Paul, and seemed to have not noticed him.

He was smoking.

‘You know’ Paul suddenly realized he was talking ‘We don’t do that here. No smoking inside the house’

John’s head shot up at the sound and his eyes searched frantically around until they fell on him. A mixture of emotions took over his face until it settled on resigned pain.

‘Oh, so I’m hallucinating you now’ he sighed ‘That’s just great. The dreams weren’t enough, it seems’

Paul lifted his eyebrows: was the hallucination mocking him?

‘Excuse me?’ he was indignant. John winced.

‘You know, I’m starting to think she was fucking with me. But I hallucinated her yesterday, again, and she told me to tell you that your gardener will have an accident tomorrow. He’ll fall from somewhere (I don’t remember) and break his arm, and everyone will be amazed that his legs weren’t hurt. So, if that happens, please start believing me? Well, hell, I don’t believe it either…’

‘You do realize you talk nonsense, right? I’m sorry if I have a hard time believing it. And who is _she_?’

‘Well’ John sat up and raised his eyebrows in Paul’s direction ‘Who do you think got all those crazy ideas in my head?’

Paul chose not to answer that.

‘Anyway, I have nothing else to do but to try it out, so. I should have died a few days ago, apparently’ his laugh was dry ‘I have nothing to live for. So, whatever, I’ll live an extra month’

There was something about the way he talked that startled Paul. Even though he knew it to be a hallucination, worry creased his forehead and he lent forward to answer John, who looked way too empty.

But then, just like that, John wasn’t there anymore. And Paul found himself speaking to an empty sofa.

He was going senile.

The John from his dreams had been talking about, insistently, the idea of resurrection. As he weighted the possibility of getting a therapist, Paul tried the ‘do it yourself’ way and started to reason why he kept dreaming (and now hallucinating) about that. Did he secretly miss John so terribly that he couldn’t keep him off his mind and just deeply desired him to be alive and well again?

Although Paul loved his friend dearly, the grief of his death had long passed and Paul didn’t think he had any pending business with it anymore. He’d gone through it and got over it, and nothing had changed from then. He loved his life as it was, and he knew he was only getting closer to joining John and Linda in heaven now, so why would he be dreaming about resurrection?

He had to admit, though, he was impressed at himself for keeping such a vivid memory of John. As the years went by, Paul’s memories of people had softened around the edges and he tended to remember the nicer things rather than the bad ones, as well as their faces, which kept getting blurrier. With John it had happened the same thing until he started having the weirder dreams: now he could see his face so clearly he felt he was back in the sixties again, and he could hear the characteristic voice sounding much more like John’s than it had in years. But the biggest change was his personality.

With John, particularly, he remembered the fights, but they were blurry. He remembered he was a hard person to deal with, but focused on the laughs. Now, though, every time he met him in his head he got exasperated.

At first, it was refreshing, and he had woken up crying a few times, happy to have met his friend once more. But now he had remembered the lad as he had truly been and, although this John seemed sadder than he recalled, he was just as exasperating. He would talk nonsense and scream at Paul for not understanding.

‘The cat of Schrodinger, for fuck’s sake, Paul! Reason! He’s both alive and dead, but in this case, he’s more dead than alive!’

‘So he’s dead?’

‘NO!’

And so it went. But he’d grasped the basics: the lad said that there were multiple parallel realities and that Paul was living in one and John (the one from the dreams) in another. In John’s reality, Paul had been the one shot dead instead of him back in 1980, and he’d lead a miserable life since. What he said was that this random lady that had come to his door had promised him that they could live forty more years together, as young people and all, in Paul’s side of the universe.

Paul flipped a few pages of his phone book and stared appreciatively at his old therapist’s number. He knew her to be great, but did he really need her? He didn’t want to spend his last years in an asylum, now, but he _had_ hallucinated today. It was getting worse.

And it all made no sense at all, psychologically speaking.

He had, yes, toyed for a moment with the possibility of it being true. Just to try and figure out what he’d do in that case. And the more Paul thought about it, the more ridiculous it got: to live forty extra years with John? Was he crazy? Had the lad forgotten about their relationship entirely? They wouldn’t survive each other for longer than a month, for God’s sake. He liked to think about them having grown up and matured and all, but John had proved in his dreams that it was only a fantasy of Paul’s. He himself had grown and all and yet, exposed to John, he reversed to his old frustration. The idea in itself was unthinkable.

He was giddy of life, that was true. He loved living, and being given the opportunity to do so in a younger body once again was beyond tempting. But he didn’t want to be a watcher to his kids growing older (they’d be older than him, now that he thought about it) and, maybe, passing before him. He didn’t want to watch his world die while he stayed put, like some kind of vampire.

He guessed that was what John’s company was supposed to avoid: the feeling of isolation and loss. And yet, John was probably the worst fill for that position.

Don’t get him wrong: he loved John. Of course he did, he loved him so much, he didn’t want to believe any of all that to be true. He had loved John as he had loved very few people, and probably the only person he could rise above him was Linda. And his kids, of course.

But, as much as he loved him, he knew him to be a nightmare.

Now, all of that thinking wouldn’t have much use though, because it was all obviously a product of his imagination. He set a reminder for the next day to call his therapist and went to sleep with Nancy at his side, spooning her. That was another thing John hadn’t considered: Paul had a life there. A very nice life, with a very nice wife and very nice kids and grandkids. And he loved his wife, he didn’t want to leave her. John was just being selfish.

Not that any of that was real, though.

That night, he had an old John dream. It was a cold Sunday morning of 1961, and they were in Paris. The sun had been showing its first rays while they giggled in the only bed up in their hotel room, pushing each other like little toddlers. They had been singing made up songs, and since they had no guitars or any instruments, they made up the tunes with their voices too. They laughed as if they were drunk, but they weren’t. It was simple joy, the most simple kind you can find.

It was only them, alone in a cold morning in a foreign country, and Paul had never felt more warm.

He woke up smiling, stared at the picture that now hung from a frame on his hallway midway to the bathroom, and broke down crying. The sleeping John below the French duvets stayed happy, though.

The gardener broke his arm.

It was before midday, while he was trying to prune one of the lemon trees from the garden: he fell from the stairs and, miraculously, didn’t hurt his legs. Only his arm suffered the consequences.

Paul’s head was spinning, and he took a pill before lunch. He knew not thinking about it was not a viable solution anymore, because there was no way his subconscious mind could have predicted with such exactitude what was going to happen, but he decided to ignore it for now. He’d deal with that later.

But later, while he was in the living room playing some mindless tunes on the piano to distract himself, the doorbell rang, and the housekeeper came saying it was a young lady looking to talk to him about something serious. He knew instantly it was her, the Her John talked about, and dread set on his stomach as he walked to the door.

She was small framed, short, with a lot of fuzzy curly hair framing her round cheeks, and dark intelligent eyes. After one look at her Paul knew he couldn’t fool her.

‘Good afternoon!’ she greeted before Paul could open his mouth ‘It’s really nice to meet you, finally. I trust John has talked to you about me?’


	4. For John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not too good and I'm sorry (I have no excuse)  
> But I liked the end :)  
> Hope you enjoy regardless, though <3

They sat at the same living room where Paul had suffered his hallucination. Or where he’d met the alternative reality John, depending on your view on the subject. Paul preferred to think of it as a hallucination.

‘My name is Brenda’ the lady started, sipping from the cup of tea that Paul had made sure to invite her to ‘And I’m here to talk about the proposition that I made to John. He’s talked to you about it, right?’

Paul was careful not to seem too overwhelmed.

‘I’ve dreamt about him, if that’s what you mean. The John from those dreams seems to have a pretty good idea of a proposition being made, yes’

‘But it’s a dream’ she smiled, a tad sad ‘That’s what you’re thinking, right? It’s hard to believe with the only help of a hurt gardener prognostic. I understand your hesitation’

Paul stared at her, waiting. She sipped her tea to put her ideas in order.

‘Would you be able to tell me what accent I have?’

That sent Paul’s head spinning. What…? Now that she pointed it out, he realized that he couldn’t place her accent at all. She didn’t sound like anything in particular; it was just plain English. Like it would be reading a paper, without any particular inflexions of the voice… It was the weirdest experience Paul could recall living while sober, and he stared at her in feared admiration. The girl seemed very uncomfortable, and she didn’t raise her gaze when she asked:

‘What about my age? Can you tell how old am I?’ As Paul had another crisis, he heard her whisper under her breath ‘God, I hate doing that’.

‘Why?’ he was still not completely down to Earth, his head feeling too light ‘It's quite a trick to have at parties…’ She grimaced.

‘I hate that kind of attention: I’m merely an observer. Anyway, Paul’ her eyes were bright again when she lifted her head ‘I know you’ll probably think I’m also a hallucination, but you can check with the housekeeper this time, can’t you? And I can try to think of another small prognostic if you want…’ Paul shook his head. If the housekeeper had seen the girl, then there was no denying her existence. Unless he was also hallucinating the housekeeper, but then he’d be hallucinating everyone and he might as well check himself into a mental hospital.

She smiled.

‘Great. Well, I’m being very rude, I haven’t presented myself properly’ she extended her small hand across the coffee table filled with tea cups and pastries. She thought it quite funny how John had invited her to coffee and cookies while Paul to tea and pastries ‘My name is Brenda. I’m a… hum, sort of a space and time watcher. My job is to keep space and time continuity, you see? So there are no cracks due to, for example, two versions of the same person running into each other and all that stuff you see in movies’

Paul arched his eyebrows.

‘I thought this had to do with heaven?’ Brenda sighed heavily.

‘Well, yes. Technically, the only ones who could approve of a project like this are the ones in charge of this world. John talked to you about parallel realities, right?’ Paul nodded. He’d heard all about quantum physics and the Schrodinger cat, much to his discontent ‘Well, heaven rules over a bunch of Earth parallel realities, and as such I need their permission to intervene. I found a hole in their system (it’s not a severe one, but it was enough) and used it on John’s behalf to grant him both a second chance at a good life and a great afterlife.’

Paul deliberately decided to ignore the heaven comment and not to think about God not being the ultimate authority. Maybe he was, who knows. Maybe he had many heavens.

‘John explained that you wanted him, who’s from an alternative reality in which I died instead of him, to come live to this alternative reality with me, in which we’d live as young men for forty more years.’

Brenda nodded slowly and swallowed the pastry she’d quickly popped into her mouth. ‘Yes, sort of. You won’t be young forever though: the plan was to reverse both of your biological clocks (your bodies, essentially) back to December 8th of 1980; that is, when either of you died depending on the reality. That means you’ll go back to the state you were in before you got separated, and from there you’ll live normally until you die someday around the year of 2020. As I explained John, you could last longer depending on certain decisions that you make along the way (stop smoking, drink less, etcetera). What is important to understand is that, although your bodies will be 38 and 40 years old respectively, you will be living in the year 2020, up until around the year 2040. We’re gifting you forty years of life, really, since you’re both bound to die in 2020.’

Paul freezed.

‘What?’

Brenda freezed.

‘Fuck.’

There was a silence for a few moments before Paul talked again, searching for Brenda’s elusive glaze. She had blushed, like a kid catched in a lie.

‘I’ll die?’

‘Well, everybody dies now don’t they?’ She laughed nervously ‘I was _not_ supposed to tell you that, but what the hell. Yes, you’re supposed to die about three weeks from now, on December the 10th of 2020. John was supposed to have died a week ago, on the day of his birthday, but he decided to postpone it until your death to see if he could convince you to accept the deal. It’s a fact that he’ll die past that date, though. So much is unavoidable.’

‘What do you mean that he ‘decided’ to postpone his death?’ Paul frowned, and the girl switched her position on her seat.

‘Well, he’ll die of suicide. He would have killed himself on his birthday if I hadn’t arrived’ Silence. Paul felt a coldness take over his limbs, and his stomach was made suddenly made of stone. ‘It’s nothing you could’ve avoided, Paul.’ Her voice was very soft ‘Now, _I_ could avoid it and I’m trying my best to find a viable solution. You see, and I found a hole in administration: not every living soul has a soulmate, alright? Sometimes they don’t need one. But if they do, well, then it’s law that they spend eternity in heaven together. If you have a soulmate, you have a right to eternal bliss with them, you know, since they’re so important for your happiness. The hole presented in this case is that you are two people’s soulmate, but only one of them is yours. That’s mainly because of how you’ve lived your life, though (yes, it affects it), but that means that John won’t get to have you in heaven because you’ll be with Linda. And John being soulmateless is against the rules, so…’

‘So you found a way to rip apart an expensive dress to repair a small hole in a cushion’

‘What’s with you and John questioning my good acts, huh? It’s not as bad… Listen, I work doing this, so I can fix anything that goes too wrong, but I’m good at math (don’t look at me like that). It’ll be alright’

Paul hid his smile behind his cup of tea. He knew he still wouldn’t be able to process this for a while, but he could work with the idea. He’d have time to meditate later.

‘So we’re doing this for John, then’

It wasn’t a question. Brenda smiled tiredly.

‘I’m sorry. I know I’m ripping your life in half (although to be fair, there wasn’t that much left of it so I’m not messing up _that_ much), but I have barely seen a life as miserable as John’s has been. I mean, I have seen worse, yes, but I’m emotionally attached to John and I don’t want his story to end so badly to then have a lonely afterlife for the rest of the eternity, you know? It feels too unfair’

Paul smiled sadly.

‘You’re being really unfair by helping him, though. When there’s so many people…’

‘I know’ Brenda interrupted, a bit grumpy ‘I know I am. But we make decisions every day. When you choose a puppy to adopt instead of the one next to it, because you can’t have all the puppies. When you buy biscuits from one lady instead of the other. I know this is a lot more serious, and I’ll admit it is selfish, but I like to consider it a treat to myself. I’ve been working for so long, and I’ve seen so much that I wish I could’ve fixed… I’ve done a good job. And I’ll take care of the consequences of this, but I need this. Give me one happy ending to hold on to, something that I could finally fix’

Silence. Paul couldn’t have understood it: having the power to help and yet being unable to in order to keep the universe in line. No one should go through that. He frowned. No one human, at least. He eyed her, but refrained from asking after realizing he didn’t want to know.

‘What if we die before the 40 years pass?’ Brenda frowned.

‘Highly unlikely, because the whole idea is that John gets to live a life with you. Heaven will watch that. If either of you die after, let’s say, 35 years, then it’s no issue. It could happen: life’s a bitch’ they giggled.

‘You know, for a long time, I thought that John’s soulmate had been Yoko’ Brenda was shaking her head, but didn’t have a chance to answer ‘But I realized when I visited him around 1977 that she wasn’t. She had hit hard, but it had been more of an enchantment than true love. I mean, I do believe he loved her, but I don’t think it was…’

‘Healthy?’ Brenda provided and nodded ‘Yes, I know. They couldn’t have lasted together: John is too unstable and gets bored easily. He needs a milestone to anchor him and yet let him fly, not chains. He had been feeling too lost, had flied too high, but the chained method couldn’t last. He needed to fly again, after a while. Yoko just wasn’t the person for him’

Another silence.

‘But I was?’ Paul’s voice was small, and Brenda’s heart felt warm.

‘Yes, you were’ she spoke soft and tender ‘You were the love of his life.’

The room was too big and they were too small, like a flower on a writer’s table, and when the flower’s colors started bleeding Brenda knew not to touch them. So she sipped her tea and let Paul cry.


	5. The Last Dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This is cheesy as fuck  
> (I'm sorry I needed this)  
> (Lots of love)

The night was dark and calm. A sea of stars barely managed to enlighten the pitch-dark grass he was lying on, and the moon wasn’t visible. The air smelled pure, fresh after a hot day, and he felt free. All he could hear was the whisper of the grass moving to the wind around him and the soft breathing of the person beside him; the person was the only one transforming that moment from lonely to peaceful, adding the warmth John had always needed to feel at ease. He couldn’t see or feel them, but their sole presence was enough.

That was his little piece of heaven. John lazily wondered if he’d already died.

The other person laughed.

‘I wonder if this is what heaven with you is like’

He couldn’t not recognize his voice. Such a perfect cadence; it made John relax even more. He didn’t want to speak and ruin it.

‘Well, I guess you’d get bored if this is all there was to it’ his tone was amused. John stayed silent, and then a little rustling told him that Paul had shifted to look at him instead of the sky ‘In a way, you are like a sky full of stars on a summer night out. Half of you is here, at this hill and as peaceful as it gets, and half of you is downtown, at the clubs. But you are a starry summer night.’

John smiled and closed his eyes. He liked that.

‘A moonless one, though’ Paul shook his head.

‘You have a moon, but you need a sun to enlighten it’

‘I guess that makes you a sunny summer afternoon, then. Always warm.’ John didn’t see Paul’s blush hide behind his chuckles.

Silence. For a second, Paul wished he could stay there forever.

‘The housekeeper saw her too’ he said, instead.

John rustled and moved to face his friend, but the man had turned to the stars. Their light only showed him the outline of Paul’s profile, and John suddenly discovered a beauty that no starry nights could ever hope to equal. The words of Brenda now came to him under a new light, understanding why it was so important that soulmates shared heaven. Paul _was_ John’s heaven.

A wave of affection rushed through him, and he had to make an effort to concentrate in what Paul had said.

‘What?’

Paul looked at him, and the intensity of his eyes made John shudder.

‘She saw her’ he said, emotional, and John understood. He smiled and reached out to wipe a tear off Paul’s cheek. He suddenly felt very present, and very raw.

‘I missed you’ he whispered, brokenly. And those words said more than any poem could that night. Paul nodded, leaning forward to press his forehead against John’s.

‘I missed you too’

They spent the rest of the dream walking around, holding hands and talking about small things; John enjoying Paul’s company as if he could never expect something better from life, and Paul half-dreading the moment when he would have to listen to Brenda’s words.

To be fair with him, he had had to absorb a lot of emotional (and logic defying) news in the past forty-eight hours or so, and although he had now made peace with the idea of a second life with John he hadn’t had time to dwell on what that really meant. For who he was, and who John was, and who they’d be to each other. Paul hadn’t had time to process the redefining of his sexual orientation.

And now, to seal the deal he would have to kiss John.

As stupid as it was (considering all the things he’d done), he’d never kissed a man before, not even John. They had snuggled, cried and masturbated together, and they had even gotten each other off with a quick hand-job a few drunken nights, but they had never come close to kissing. If they did, that set it: they were queer. It was a weirdly intimate and not entirely sexual gesture, kissing. Too intimate not to be off limits.

If he kissed John, Paul wouldn’t be able to call himself ‘straight’ anymore, not honestly. And that scared the shit out of him.

He’d grown up with it: the stigma. And though he knew it stupid and pointless, it was a hard fight against himself: one thing was to respect and support others and another, completely different thing was to need the support yourself. To risk it. He was ashamed to think that, not that many years ago, he would have never risked it.

Now, however, a lifetime had passed and society had changed, as well as many of Paul’s views on things. He’d become more accepting, more open to change and loving of things. And still...

As these thoughts rushed inside Paul’s mind, John suddenly stopped walking and searched his eyes with his.

‘Something’s wrong. What is it?’

Paul internally sighed and marveled at John’s ability to read through him. Him and Linda were the only ones who could: Paul was very good at hiding his thoughts when he wanted to. Looking at the soft, cool grass caressing their bare feet, he began speaking.

‘Brenda told me how to seal the deal’

John cocked his head, surprised. A part of him that had grown increasingly unaware of the real world had forgotten everything about the deal and was just living the dream as some sort of free trial of heaven.

‘Did she, now? And what is that?’

Paul smiled shyly.

‘We’ve got to kiss. Or, more correctly, I’ve got to kiss you’

John didn’t say anything. He knew that, although he’d done his fair share of experimenting back in the day, that probably hadn’t been Paul’s case, and to let go of an identity you had held onto for an entire lifetime in exchange for one you had been talked against for just as long was far from easy. John himself had gone through something like that, but he’d been much younger and had known about it for far too long.

‘You don’t want to?’ his voice was understanding, not judging. Paul lifted his gaze to match John’s. His voice was a whisper.

‘I don’t know. I guess I’m just scared of what it’ll mean, really. Who that will make me. It’s not about you.’

‘I know’

The silence was very loud with John’s breath so close to his, and the night felt too warm with John’s hand in his. Too comfortable, too easy. It was too easy to love him. Too easy to leave behind his old self for those honest and inviting lips, that looked more intensely colored than usual due to the night. It seemed just too natural to look into those blunt and sensitive eyes of his and feel love, the need to stare into them forever.

It was then that he realized that he had always looked away.

Paul had always looked away, every time those lips seemed too inviting or those eyes too lovable. He had adverted his thoughts every time John’s laugh made him smile too wide, or his sad face want to hug him tight. And in that moment, facing the challenge of putting his feelings for the man in order as he’d never really stopped to do before, Paul realized he’d always loved John. He just hadn’t let himself notice it.

He wasn’t letting go of an old identity and adopting a new one. Loving John had always been a part of him: this had always been his identity.

As his heart felt big and warm with love, he took his time to look into those light brown eyes, those almond shaped eyes with long light eyelashes. He took in the messy thick eyebrows, the few and scattered freckles around his nose, and the moles on his cheeks and jaw. He stared at the soft, now full cheeks, and at the long light brown hair. John looked midway between an angel and a kid, and Paul found himself smiling at the idea.

John, still staring straight into Paul’s eyes, mimicked his gesture and Paul finally stared at those lips, those beautiful naughty lips. Those red, thin lips that reminded him of a child’s. Lips that could inflict a lot of pain without second thought, but could also sing and love like hell. Because John was pure sentiment.

And, suddenly, Paul was too.

The kiss was long, soft and gentle. John danced with him, warm lips against warm lips, heating up that summer night. And suddenly, the moon was there.

And they both knew they wouldn’t want to live in a world without the other’s smell on their skin anymore.

It was as soon as they pulled out to breathe that the world went black.

\---

If you can't see the drawing and you wanted to, it's here: https://pin.it/StwyG12


	6. Metamorphosis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ello! I took my time with this one, I'm sorry! Not completely happy with it, but I don't think I can make it any better now  
> This is pretty abstract as it's hum, like a metamorphosis... you'll see.  
> Anyway, made it listening to Do I Wanna Know? by The Arctic Monkeys, and incorporated it to the story.  
> Hope you like it! :) (don't have much hope, it's weird af. I'll post some more actual content soon!)

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

_Have you got color in your cheeks?_

Empty spaces and moving mouths. He could hear a hurried breath beside him that smelled warm and felt like yet another Friday night.

_Do you ever get that feeling that you can’t shift the type that sticks around like summat in your teeth?_

He shifted and moaned; his skin felt set aflame. It was comfortable enough at first, but as time moved on he felt more and more overwhelmed, fervid. The breath beside him hitched.

_Are there some aces up your sleeve?_

The breath became lips on his shoulder, and he screamed. Oh god, it burnt, it burnt.

_Have you no idea that you’re in deep?_

Burn me again.

_I’ve dreamt about you nearly every night this week_

A soft laugh in his ear, and suddenly he knew fire’s name as he felt it redefine him, violate him. He shouldn’t dream about him, not on a Friday night.

_How many secrets can you keep?_

The red overpowered the black and _(thump, thump, thump)_ suddenly he was on the ground, his heart beating to the rhythm of the blood on his wrists and a beautiful face smiling down at him. He only cried about Paul on Friday nights.

_‘Cause there’s this tune I found that makes me think of you somehow when I play it on repeat_

The black and red danced, stripped naked. John couldn’t find his breath as he watched them have sex before his eyes.

_Until I fall asleep, spillin’ drinks on my settee_

His skin felt tight and strong as Paul knelt before him, and he watched that little smirk of his once more before the kiss.

_1965._

John didn’t remember the last time he’d cried, to be honest. He didn’t remember the last time he’d allowed himself to be emotional like that, vulnerable, not even in private (not that he had any privacy those days). He kept hearing Mimi’s voice, telling him to man up, and he knew he wouldn’t be weak. He wouldn’t be a shame.

But it had built up. He had spent so, so damn long packing it all in, all of those emotions whenever they didn’t sleep enough, eat nutritive food, or just have one moment of rest and tranquility. He felt it whenever he’d hear the fans screaming (half the time, really) or when he’d check in yet another hotel.

He was tired. He was emotional, and he felt like crying.

Usually, and since John was such a sensitive person (much to his distaste), his negative emotions came flooding back as anger issues, and occasionally as introspective and silent hours. He knew he wasn’t good at managing his feelings like the other lads were, and that just made him angrier. Like he wasn’t good enough; not for them.

He’d read the papers the day before. They’d called him fat. The Fat Beatle, in fact, to capitalize it. He never had much of an issue with his body image, but he liked to feel confident (aka, he liked to be praised), and now he just felt like that was the last straw. As if he didn’t feel enough distress with all of that Beatlemania thing going on and no time to process it, as well as the straining sessions of be it the movie (now finished), the photoshoots or just composing, recording or whatever… And now, he was the Fat Beatle. As a thank you note.

John climbed up the stairs (he didn’t want to run into anyone at the lift) and reached his room, opening it to slide in and shut the door closed. He had some rare, short time to himself, since the lads had gone out drinking, but John didn’t smile to himself before laying down on his bed on a fetal position. He felt small today.

Well, small inside anyway.

So what if he ate more than usual now? With all the weed they all smoked those days, it wasn’t weird. Weed made you hungry. And why did they smoke so much weed? Because they could never relax without it, since they lacked the time. They couldn’t process their own lives, that is. ‘So it’s their own fault I’m fat’ John thought, bitterly. He wished he was more confident on that statement, though.

He was, after all, the only fat Beatle. And they were all smoking pot, weren’t they?

When the first tear made its way down his cheek John barely noticed it. It seemed inoffensive enough, closely followed by some silent friends, but it was the beginning of the fall.

At first, it felt good. It felt real and sad and out and John felt better, but then it wasn’t. The sensation of emptiness seemed to only get bigger the more he wept, and loneliness wrapped him like a blanket, asphyxiating and numbing him. He felt alone. Abandoned.

That’s why the creak of the door being opened didn’t make him jump or stop crying. That’s why, when he heard the initial hesitance being followed by the creak of the door closing and the steps getting closer to his bed, he didn’t react.

Because he knew he needed it when Paul’s warmth surrounded him and his nice, comforting smell enveloped him. He didn’t care if he wasn’t a proper man in that moment. He didn’t care if he was fat and unworthy, because he was with Paul.

He was home.

_Abbey Road._

He should probably be feeling a lot more.

The burning sensation had died down and now Paul found himself walking down empty and cold hallways, looking for anything at all. His skin felt hot, sensitive and pulled tight over his bones, but he tried to ignore it the best he could as he walked, a mindless tune in his head.

_Crawling back to you._

The thumping of the drums shook him whole every time he walked, heart beating to the rhythm. As he looked down to the ground under his shoes, he realized where he was: Abbey Road. He was at the station, but it was a hallway.

_Ever thought of callin’ when you you’ve had a few?_

The first door appeared to his left, and he opened it.

A sunny day of early summer.

Linda and the kids were playing on their backyard, flowers and grass around him as Stella ran after a rabbit. Linda looked up from where she was teaching Mary how to plant and smiled warmly at him. And Paul, for some weird reason, knew it ok to close that door. He knew that Linda would always let him live. Let him love.

_‘Cause I always do_

He walked a bit more and another door appeared, this time to his right.

_Maybe I’m too busy being yours to fall for somebody new_

John was crying. He was sat at an armchair in the dark, in what Paul knew to be his room at the Dakota building, and he was crying. The door was locked and Paul heard the knocks of small hands, Yoko’s voice calling John’s name, but the man was out of service. His long dirty hair hung over his trembling hands, half-covering a tear-stained gaunt face.

‘I couldn’t have’ he whispered brokenly, barely audible ‘As if I could. As if I could ever live without him. As if there was life without him. Oh god, why him, why him?’

Paul heard him sob with quiet desperation and his heart broke. Yoko wasn’t John’s Linda. John didn’t have a Linda. He didn’t have anyone.

But Paul. He retreated from that tense atmosphere, heavy with guilt and desperation, and closed the door. He couldn’t…

_Now I’ve thought it through_

He had never understood it better than then, how profoundly John felt and how impactful Paul had been to him. How much John had grown to…

_Crawlin’ back to you_

Love him.

He didn’t want to open the last door, not knowing if he could face John’s dead body again. Not now, not ever.

Not John.

_Now._

‘I’m here, now’ From that time he was alone (his whole life, really) it felt like a lifetime had passed. This whole fantasy (or dream, whatever it was) had made him feel complete. Had made him feel one with Paul.

‘I’ll be here, forever’ And John just had to smile, face long since buried in Paul’s shoulder. He didn’t know if he could speak, but he didn’t need to. He was buried deep in Paul’s soul, and Paul felt it too.

It wasn’t really anything new: it was all the old stuff from a new perspective. He’d never seen John like he was seeing him now, all of his temper and mood swings expressing nothing more than a very sensitive and mistreated soul, and he wanted to hold him forever. ‘I’m yours’

‘And Linda’s’

‘And yours’

And that settled it.

‘Do you love me?’ Silence, as Paul thought how to phrase it.

‘I think I always did but never noticed it, you know? Never let myself notice’ John nodded.

‘Perks of being an introspective overthinker’ he murmured, and Paul laughed.

‘A poet’

The poet of his soul.

They didn’t have bodies then.

But when they woke up, they did. Both of them, at the same time, and in the same place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, I noticed today that I forgot to add the 'Mentions of Eating Disorders' tag so I'm doing that  
> The thing is, I do believe John had one, and I think it would've worsened after Paul's death and all of that. At this point in his life (in the fanfic) he doesn't have one anymore, he's just depressed (thus lack of appetite)


	7. The First Resurrection Case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be mad I forgot to update this I'm very sorry I'll try my best to post more very soon  
> Also, this is a bit of a heavy chapter, but you know I had to make it (there's a lot to face when you resurrect someone and de-age two people)

‘You ever think about how we’re going to live a hundred and twenty years?’ John asked from the couch. He had spent the last ten minutes watching Paul work on some important papers John understood nothing about and staring at the ceiling, bored to death.

‘Yeah’ Paul chuckled ‘Brings up a new kind of respect for Methuselah, doesn’t it?’

John cocked his head to the side, curious ‘Didn’t you love life and all that crap?’

Paul sighed. ‘I do, I just get the feeling I’m going to be so tired after watching the world change so much. I feel like Armand, the vampire from ‘Interview with a Vampire’’

It had been a month already since they had both woken up in Paul’s bed after that wild dream, their skin reddened and tight and their bodies back to how they had looked on December of 1980. It had been Brenda’s doing that that morning, the house had been empty from all people, and they had all day to themselves in order to get used to both their new, younger bodies and each other’s presence. They spent it all in a kind of haze, half believing to be in a dream, until their skin stopped feeling too tight and sensitive and their laughs felt genuine again. They used that afternoon to take a break of the intense staring they’d been throwing each other and actually talk, thus catching up on each other’s life. Mostly, Paul explained John all those things that John found to be different in this universe, as well as the life Paul had led and currently lived.

On the other hand, and to their back, Brenda (who had managed to make every house occupant leave the place for the day) reunited with each one of them individually and explained the situation the best she could. When they had a hard time believing it or they went to shock or repression, she gently helped them by placing a hand on their foreheads and giving them a glimpse of her own mind, thus explaining herself in ways words couldn’t. Shock is produced by a too sudden change that proved wrong a fact that the person had thought to be true and had held onto for too long, thus knocking over one big pillar that sustained that person’s life (for example: you can’t come back from the dead -unless you’re Jesus-). Brenda understood this and so she knew that, through letting them truly understand what had happened, they’d realize that the world they lived in remained the same and the change they thought so radical wasn’t more than a mere exception to the rule.

All in all, when the first day ended and the following morning arrived, Paul and John having cuddled through the night in need for comfort and each other’s presence, the arrival of Nancy first and Paul’s kids, sons-in-law and grandchildren later was not as traumatic as they thought it would be. Nancy had had a very hard time when she understood the truth, particularly because that was a part of Paul’s life she had never experienced before and because that meant that Paul was much more than what she had been seeing in him, but Brenda’s cool fingers had helped and now she was able to cry instead of going into shock upon seeing his husband’s face.

Paul hugged her through it, and a couple of hours later, some tea and small talk had her in a good enough mental state for when Heather, Mary and Mary’s family arrived.

Heather had been the most receptive, and she hadn’t needed Brenda’s help when the confession had been out. She was thoroughly happy to see his dad and John together again, as well as seeing them looking younger and healthy. She didn’t even seem too put off by the age difference that now separated herself from her own father, though Paul couldn’t ignore it fully.

Mary had had a more difficult time, but she recognized her father inside that younger body immediately and ran to hug him. She remembered John faintly, but she had a clear memory of all of her dad’s stories about him, and that was enough to make her feel like she knew him when John hugged her back. Mary’s husband, Simon, was still awed and floating in a kind of haze, but it didn’t seem to be too bad or long-lasting, and their kids were _thrilled_. They, specially Arthur, couldn’t stop staring at Paul’s face in a kind of awe, and John was on a laughing fit about Paul’s uncomfortable expression.

The next to arrive, just around lunch time, was James. He had spent the day walking around and trying to get his head wrapped around the crazy idea, but he still felt like he’d swallowed some LSD when he saw his young-looking father standing next to his supposedly dead best friend. James’ expression looked more or less the same as Simon’s at the table during lunch.

Beatrice was the next to arrive, having finally convinced her mother, and she was the most excited one about it. She seemed to have had a pretty easy time believing it (in a weird, crazy way she was a bit like her sister Heather, although they shared no blood), and now she threw her arms around her father in a fit of giggles, happy to see him young and healthy and about to live many more years (which was, honestly, the main reason why she was so happy). Paul’s heart felt very warm and he had to struggle not to tear up.

The last one was Stella. Stella had had a terrible time receiving the news, somehow not believing entirely that a. the Paul she was now seeing was not a double or some kind of impostor (as well as John) or b. she had not been drugged and was supremely high at the moment. The dream option still stood, but she didn’t have that much imagination, so it wasn’t a main option. Brenda had done her best trying to convince her, but she was struggling, and the dinner they shared was a bit stiff. Her husband, on the other hand, seemed thrilled, completely convinced and loving every bit of it. Their children reacted more or less like Mary’s children had, enthusiasm and curiosity dripping off them.

All in all, it was an emotionally draining second day but not nearly as bad as they had feared it would be. Even the staff of the house were having at it easily. That night, John slept at the guest room and Paul shared his bed with Nancy.

The third day, at around lunch time, there was a knock on the door and John soon discovered that Brenda thought of everything when he saw Sean standing there nervously, looking and not believing his eyes.

This time the encounter was a lot more emotional than the previous ones had been for Paul, and father and son cried and spent the entire day together, catching up and just getting to know each other once more. Sean seemed to be unable to imagine what he was experiencing as anything else than a dream, casting glances at his father any time he could. But in the end, he believed, and John cried all night remembering the hope and glee in his son’s eyes.

‘I can’t believe I did that to him’ he’d said the following morning, staring at his toast ‘In my side of the universe, I mean. I can’t believe I would kill myself and leave him to endure it’

There was not much that either Paul or Nancy could say to make him feel better, but they tried their best. John shook his head, whispering ‘I wonder what’s going on with him now’

Turned out, as Brenda told them the next time she dropped by (to check up on them), the other Sean was doing fine. Yes, he was grieving (how could he not), but his father’s suicide (as it was seen in John’s old world) was no surprise to anyone given the state in which he’d lived the past couple of decades, and thus Sean would be able to move on with his life. It was only mildly reassuring, but now John was able to swallow past that lump in his throat.

Julien was another case altogether, and Brenda told him she’d help when the moment came around, but it’d have to be John the one to seek that moment. He’d been separated from his son for way too long before he was shot in 1980, and it was his responsibility to contact him back.

In the meantime, it was time to face the world.

They called it ‘The First Resurrection Case’, and it was all over the news for months. Exactly one month after John’s return, and after that lazy morning conversation about living 120 years, Brenda decided that the atmosphere had become comfortable enough in the house and between the pair to now come out publicly, and she organized a few press conferences as well as a couple of full-on interviews with some famous interviewers, two of which had known The Beatles well enough back in the day. Larry Kane was also present in both of them, him having been such a long-lasting old friend of The Beatles and, particularly, of John’s.

It went as well as it could’ve been given the circumstances, and Larry and the other who’d known them before had no choice but to admit that they fully recognized their friends in John and Paul, but the key was Brenda: she was drawing to herself all the attention by taking all the responsibility for what had happened. This way, both John and Paul were not the targets when all the doubt and rage unleashed, mostly dedicated to the mystery the young (or grown, or old, or something) girl presented and that no one was able to deduce. They had asked her after watching her use all her tricks in the interviews and then a few more to prove the authenticity of her job and all, if this wouldn’t put her into a lot of trouble, outing herself like that, but she replied that doing it in only ‘one reality’ wouldn’t do no hurt. Besides, no one would really draw any important conclusions from what she was giving them (they wouldn’t discover how to time-travel or stuff like that, she said, that would make her job harder), and mostly they’d repress the information or say it was God’s doing or something – shake off the responsibility of understanding it scientifically. She turned out to be right.

All in all, although some believed the truth and some didn’t, their mistrust and doubts were not directed at Paul and John but at Brenda, as she had proved herself responsible from the moment she knitted an illusion in a public live event that made them all see Conan O’Brien as a young twenty-year-old lad instead of the fifty-something-year-old man he was for a solid minute. The trick was, she let herself be interviewed and subjected to a couple of scientific experiments for around a month before she released a public farewell and disappeared, which just gave more sustenance to her mysteriousness and proved her not to be ordinarily human. In the end, no public organization could ever find her again after, and the lack of answers turned many people into believers.

She did have dinner with Paul and John before leaving, though, and they couldn’t stop themselves from showing their concern. ‘You know, they’ll never forget you’ John pointed at her with his fork ‘You are now forever a target’. Brenda raised her eyebrows.

‘Oh, you think I only have one possible appearance? That I’m dumb enough to walk around wearing this body in here anymore?’

The stunned look on their faces made her laugh so hard it was almost insulting.

It wasn’t an emotional goodbye. Yes, Brenda had done more than anyone possibly could do for them, and she was a very warm, friendly and loveable person, but they couldn’t shake the feeling that this was far from being a goodbye. Specially after that very disturbing comment during dinner, they now felt like she’d be behind the glasses of that old lady at the supermarket, or in those huge eyes of that little kid at the bus stop. They just felt like she’d be watching, she’d be smiling, and she’d be looking after them. It wasn’t a bad feeling, not like just being stalked or having no privacy (because they did have it); they just felt safe. ‘This must be what religious people feel like’ Paul commented once to John, while they brushed their teeth ‘Cared for. Safe’

‘Well, after all she did and risked for us, how could we think less?’

(It’s not really that they saw her as a god. Not after they’d seen her blushing, eating cookies and mumbling about fucking around with universal rules, but they did see her as some kind of guardian angel. _Their_ guardian angel).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgot to add: I completely made up everyone's reaction to the news. Obviously, I don't know them and tbh I haven't researched that much about them, so I'm running on basics here. Sorry if it sounds all wrong!


	8. Feetless Dancers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have like, no excuses for taking this long. I'm so sorry.  
> Also, the song in there is entirely made up by me which is why it sucks (I can't write songs)
> 
> update: changed the song but keep in mind it's more of a poem cuz (hey hey) I can't write songs

‘You know, you _could_ try to clean up after yourself like, once. It won’t immediately kill you’

‘Well, it might _slowly_ kill me, though’

Paul rolled his eyes as he picked up empty tea mugs and full ashtrays from the coffee table of their new home.

The house was medium size, with only four bedrooms, an attic, a large living room, a kitchen and two bathrooms. The largest bedroom was used as a music room and had a step that separated a smaller area from the rest, facing three large windows that curved outwards to the forest near the house. That spot was the art spot where they painted and such, given the great illumination. One of the other bedrooms was theirs, and the other two were guest rooms. The attic was used to store both prizes they’d won and stuff that they kept as memories but weren’t of much use, such as John’s mom’s letters and Paul’s children’s art projects for Father’s Day. John had been lucky enough to be able to retrieve some of his most treasured things, either from Yoko (who’d, of course, kept all of his goods since there were no laws about procedures in case of resurrection, not that John cared since Paul was a billionaire), Sean or various museums and rich people who’d sold it back to him.

They had a huge backyard that Paul had already begun to fill with different plants, flowers and stuff (to have a nice view from the balcony of their room, he’d whispered to John with a smile), and was thinking of starting a vegetable pot in the space they had to the left of the wooden cabin-style house, as if they could get any cheekier. John, on his part, had taken to painting the inside of the walls that weren’t wooden, drawing some nice patterns and colors in the music and art room. He couldn’t stop thinking about how much like a young couple that had been together for many years they were behaving, and yet they barely touched. It was exactly as it had been all those years back, platonic and yet almost real, tangible. Like a rainbow you could see it, you could feel it, but it wasn’t solid. Yet.

Although Brenda had explained to the public, during those weeks of press, that technically Nancy Shevell was a widow now (because Paul had been doomed to die some days earlier due to a traffic accident), legally it didn’t seem to count, and much to Paul’s guilt he had to divorce. Nancy didn’t mind it as much as he thought she would, because she was still pretty disturbed by the whole deal and she couldn’t help but to look at her husband differently now. It wasn’t only that he was younger (younger than her, actually), but the fact that he had brought John back. John was deeply linked to her husband in many ways and she’d known it, but she had never actually seen it and now it all seemed too much, like John was too much of Paul’s soul and she had never actually noticed before. And now Paul didn’t feel hers anymore, so it was just right to divorce.

She got her fair share of goods, but she wasn’t overly greedy as Heather Mills had been, and Paul had more than enough left for both John and himself. They did have to spend a lot on lawyers and medical exams that they were required to do to ease the authorities’ minds, until they had no choice but to recognize that the finger-prints matched, and everything else did as well, so they were indeed who they said to be and, what’s more, they were both living beings and not very well-done robots or something.

All in all, it was only when March of 2021 arrived that John and Paul found themselves moving into their new home, a medium-sized wooden house they bought near a small town not too far away from Liverpool. Paul had decided that all of his other properties would be more fitting for his children and grandchildren than himself, and had thus gifted most of it, only keeping the farm in Scotland. He didn’t need it, really, but too many memories lay there.

The house was a half an hour walk away from the town, and although the place was isolated enough, the amount of journalists and fans that arrived after the location had been leaked to get answers or a closer look at the pair forced them to install a sort of electric security fence that seemed to do the trick fairly well.

It was crazy, really, how the world had been shaken after receiving the news. They had been almost harassed with letters, emails and other forms of communication (including actual press standing all day long outside their property) trying to get them to participate in interviews and such to explain this new phenomenon, even though Brenda had done it all before _with_ them and there was nothing else to say. She had, in fact, not been clear as to what kind of relationship they were expected to have, but the word “soulmate” seemed to settle people’s minds in one direction and now they were all having a stroke. One thing is to believe that John Lennon had liked men back when he was alive; another one to believe he’d been deeply in love with his mate Paul during his life; but another very, very different thing was to think that his love had been so strong that when Paul died his life had become so incredibly miserable that a supernatural being with incredible powers took pity of him and brought him back to Paul to live forty years with him as his romantic partner. John understood the shock, but that didn’t keep him from being annoyed by the harassment. How would he successfully woo Paul when he was all stiff thinking that any idiot with a camera could find a way to jump past the fence and run to their window at any given time?

They didn’t speak much about the past either. Those first weeks, it was mostly a comfortable co-living and arranging of their new house with the help of Paul’s family and friends (plus Sean and Julian -who John had found the courage to talk to eventually-), and they didn’t treat the situation as special. It was only once they’d almost finished getting settled and the guest rooms were, for once, empty, that something was brought up.

John woke up to a nightmare, crying and gasping for air, and he couldn’t understand what that awful heavy feeling in his chest meant until Paul was hugging and hushing him and John felt it slide away. Paul was there. He wasn’t dead; he was there, hugging him, and John started crying for real, holding onto Paul like he was a rock in the middle of the ocean.

Paul hushed and rocked him back and forward until his sobs quieted down, voice low and tender as he spoke.

‘I’m here, I’m here. It’s alright, Johnny boy, it’s alright’

‘Don’t leave me’

‘I won’t. You know I won’t’

John didn’t speak as Paul kissed the top of his head, and let his eyelids slide shut as he felt the warmth of Paul’s body against his. _That_ had changed, he suddenly thought. He had never hugged him like this. But again, John had never cried like this in front of him before, so.

‘Did you miss me?’

Paul’s hushing stopped, and the hug grew tighter.

‘You know I did’ His voice was a little strained, and John wondered.

‘I don’t, really’ He lied. Paul kept it quiet for a bit.

‘John, I had Linda. You know that: I had her and the kids, and a lot of people to hold onto. If you’re asking to know why I didn’t undo my entire life when you died, that’s the anwer. Plus, if there’s something that I learnt in India, it was to accept death’

John didn’t say anything.

‘I had my true meltdown when Linda died, though’ Paul quietly admitted, and held John tighter as if he could feel the boy’s pang of hurt ‘Because then I had no one left to love. Which is a lie, of course, and my children proved it, but at the time it felt like I had no one. You know, I think if you had been there, I wouldn’t have crumbled down. The same way that, since Linda was there, I didn’t crumble down when you died. It was losing both of you that drove me crazy’

John closed his eyes and breathed in Paul’s smell. He couldn’t get tired of it, and he snuggled closer to position his head against the crook of the man’s neck. That way, he could hear his heartbeat, and that sound calmed him better than any med could.

‘You know, I only wrote one song after you died’ he whispered, and Paul hummed with surprise.

‘Only one? Where did all that talent go to rest, then?’

‘I painted for a living. Well, not _for a living;_ you get it. I couldn’t write songs, not without you. It’s funny, really, ‘cuz I’ve written songs both before I met you and after we broke apart, and even in the middle too. But after you were gone, it was like it wasn’t worth it, ‘cuz you wouldn’t be there to make it better. To listen to it, react to it, I don’t know… It felt like, if you couldn’t do music anymore, I shouldn’t even try’

Paul only hummed in response, trying to not feel overwhelmed by the wave of sadness he felt. He almost didn’t want to ask.

‘But you wrote one?’

‘Yes’ A whisper ‘Well, technically I wrote a couple with David Bowie (he did most of the work), but apart from that I only wrote one, yes’

Paul closed his eyes, resting his head on top of John’s.

‘How’s it called?’

‘ _Feetless Dancers_ ’ Paul hummed.

‘And how does it go?’ John hesitated.

‘It’s not that good. You wrote so many good songs, so many hits and alb…’

‘I don’t care. You wrote one song, and I’d love to hear it’

It was a long moment before John took a deep breath.

_I walked a path today; a dancing path_

_We formed it years ago, together in hand_

_Do you remember now my hand in yours?_

_I'll think of it tonight, when I see you._

_I'll ask to sit down here and watch you play_

_Why don't you sing to me and I'll listen?_

_It has been oh, so long, without your voice_

_Don't mind me if I don't join, just_

_I miss you lots._

_Shall you decide tonight to dance our path_

_I'll ask of you my love to know your name_

_Your favourite colour, your go-to dress_

_You'll have to excuse that I can't place your face_

_I've loved so many now, would you complain?_

_if when I sat us down, tonight at eight_

_I saw them dance along to the song we made_

_singing in your eyes and loving me in your hands?_

_Oh, honey, if when tonight, at half past eight_

_I dance our dancing path to the very end_

_I'll ask to sit down here and watch you play_

_Why don't you sing to me and I'll listen?_

_It has been oh, so long, without your voice_

_Don't mind me if I don't join, just_

_I miss you lots._

_... (music)._

_Shall you decide tonight to dance our path_

_I'll ask of you, my heart, to kiss me soft_

_On my forehead, mommy; on my lips, love_

_And close your eyes as I let go._

_It has been oh, so long, without your voice_

_Don't kiss my tears, just_

_I missed you lots._

As the silence stretched, the house held them warm and tight, silent with unsaid secrets. They didn’t need to be said, really, not between two souls like John and Paul. Not when quietly sobbing in the dark of a chilly night of March, holding tight to each other as if they were the only thing that was real in the world, convincing themselves that they were, was all what they needed to feel real.

Soulmates are made of a lot more than sex and finishing each other’s sentences, John thought. And maybe it’d take a while to get anywhere else, and maybe it didn’t matter. Because they were in love, and as he could now understand, they had always been.

They just hadn’t noticed before.

And judging by Paul’s loud sobbing, he regretted it deeply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I said, the song is made up and I keep thinking that it's miles away from anything John would ever write but well.  
> 〰 I m a g i n a t i o n 〰


	9. Ringo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, I hadn't forgotten about Ringo, what are you talking about

After that night, it took them weeks to get over the occasional breakdown they’d have over finding each other living and breathing. Paul sang ‘Here Today’ to John and John cried like a bird, scolding him because no one knew him better than Paul no matter how many millennia went by. Paul pointed out that, back in 1980, he would have never admitted that, and John had to give it to him.

Other than that, the days went by in a calm domestic lifestyle that John broke occasionally with outbursts of energy and artistic inspiration, as well as the well-known mood swings. Paul was surprised to find that, although John did have times when he’d get irritated easily or be really grumpy all the time, it was mostly melancholic days, and he found himself reflecting if the years had changed him or if John had always used anger to manifest that sadness inside of him. Maybe the loneliness from later years had freed him from fear of judgement and now he just let it be as it was.

On Paul’s side, he’d never stopped being the energetic, workaholic and cheerful lad he’d always been, and he took care of most things in the house: cooking, cleaning up the things the cleaning lady wouldn’t do, taking care of his plants and the few cats that would show up every day now, and then play the guitar and sing with John until they were too sleepy to continue. John would help, sometimes, doing the cooking or cleaning in days where Paul got too caught up with the work of his garden, but he usually liked to use his time painting or playing with the neighbor’s dogs.

They mostly lived in peace, though. It had taken a while, but they had even started to dare to compose little nothings together on afternoons of tea and laughter. It was small enough not to cause an emotional breakdown on either side, though, reminiscing of old times. Talking about which…

Ringo came by on the 21st of April, after almost four months of the news being public. He’d been there during the first press rounds with Brenda, looking aghast and absolutely thunderstruck as he took in his old friends. He, too, had been unable to deny that both John and Paul felt just the same as they had before (the same people) but had also admitted to feeling a bit like he was dreaming it all. He had exchanged very few words with the lads, who’d tried not to overwhelm him, and then disappeared for almost four months before holding himself together enough to go to visit them.

The house smelled of baked potatoes and seasoned vegetables when he arrived with Barbara, carrying a homemade apple pie, and Ringo couldn’t help but to be surprised at the sight that greeted him inside.

It looked like a home. The nice, cozy and clean furniture, the smells and clinking sounds coming from the kitchen, the cat sitting on a sofa in front of a creaking and warming lit fireplace, a book on the coffee table that John seemed to have been reading, the music coming from the old vinyl player next to the piano… Ringo spotted a not-too-big TV on a corner of the room and a radio on the counter that separated the living room from the kitchen, but they didn’t seem to get to be used much. John was wearing a cozy green jumper, blue jeans and slippers, and when Paul emerged from the kitchen wearing an apron that said ‘where there’s a _whisk_ there’s a way’ Ringo was sure to be having a hallucination. Surely, he’d died and this was some kind of heaven where everything was right. He wondered if George was about to walk in from around the corner carrying a basket full of puppies or something.

The truth is that the image was too nice. First, it was shocking enough to see Paul young again (absolutely unfair, too: now he was the ugly one again). Let me explain it: it’s never easy to age, but it’s probably harder to see the ones that you love the most age around you, slowly degenerating until death came. Ringo had seen Paul change a lot throughout the years, and he himself had gone through the same, as the past that they’d lived grew further and further away, slowly turning into a memory that could not be reached anymore. He’d experienced them becoming museum pieces, and now there stood Paul, a piece of the past back in all its glory.

Two pieces, actually, since John had fucking Jesused his way back. And stepping into that house, he really felt like entering a dream: Ringo, still old and wrinkled and filled with memories that were no more than that; the house, a piece of that unreachable past that decided to invade a timeline where it didn’t belong.

That was the feeling of utter confusion that came over him as he and Barbara handed their coats to John, and he took her hand for reassurance. She squeezed it, and Ringo could at least be sure that his wife was the same wife he knew and loved so much, and he wasn’t completely lost.

Despite everything, Ringo couldn’t not see how much his old friends remained the same. John was still new at having to do housework and did a lot of the table wrong, for which Paul scolded him and John took the defensive. It was a mindless little fit that had them both laughing at the end, but it just proved them not to have been replaced by some perfect old couple with no character and too much peace, and Ringo felt himself relaxing and slipping back into an old mindset that he had almost forgotten about: a little young man inside the old man. It was almost refreshing.

Paul had cooked most of the food, although John did part of the potatoes and the baked bread pretty well (decent, at least, Ringo thought as he chew an undercooked potato), and it was a great meal. They talked about mindless little things and Ringo relaxed, Barbara laughing by his side and his friends as fun to be around as they’d always been. They seemed, he had to recognize later that evening, when he laid in bed caressing Barb’s hair, more mature, though. Less childish and more… Peaceful, adult-like. He knew Paul to be the same 78-year-old man he knew, though in a younger body, and John seemed more calm too, as if the years had rubbed those hard edges that had kept him in trouble his whole life to something softer and more manageable. That, he whispered to his wife, might make this whole ordeal possible. That might make the idea less nuts, the house cozy enough, the music warm enough, the spirits peaceful and loving enough. He knew they’d have fits, that much was unavoidable, but the young proud lads that would scream and not talk to each other in years were not there anymore.

The look in John’s eyes just wasn’t the same.

He had known John for many years, despite being the newest member. Anyone who would spend as much time as the Beatles did together during those crazy years would get to know each other very well, and John had always had a very sharp edge to his personality that, with the years, Ringo had thought of as somewhat defensive. He seemed to jump too fast and too high, and was always a prey of mood swings and a talkative tongue. John was like that, mad as a hatter and spontaneous, freed from conventionalisms, and yet… That edge was just a defense against the attacks his mad personality would no doubt receive. Was a defense against being ridiculed, abandoned, hurt. John had always went too hard too fast, in everything, but now…

He seemed calm. Almost sad, he looked, as if his energy had left him. Peaceful, as Paul stroked his shoulder or served him more soup. At first, Ringo had thought that may be John was depressed, but that calmness wasn’t about surrender. No, the defense was gone. The hard edges were gone, and now John didn’t seem to care about being ridiculed, or abandoned, or hurt… He just seemed at ease. Peaceful, open, smiling, joking and looking at Paul with such an adoration that Ringo shuddered… But he knew he had seen that look before. Less blunt, more guarded and guilty, but he’d seen it.

His thoughts were reeling when teatime came around and they all gathered around the fireplace on those cozy sofas (next to the cat), eating the apple pie and talking.

‘So, how long?’ Ringo asked when the conversation died down a bit. Paul looked up, confused.

‘How long what?’ Ringo gestured towards the two of them.

‘How long have you been together?’

They seemed a bit uncomfortable, and Paul laughed.

‘Oh, no, we only got together in October. You know, with the whole thing’

Ringo nodded ‘Oh. I thought, watching you today, maybe I’d missed it back in the day, huh? It just seemed so natural, the way you acted. I guess back then you didn’t consider that possibility much unless there was touching’

Paul smiled, a tad sadly, but it was John who spoke.

‘It was confusing back then, you see, because both of us like girls too. So why bother becoming the worst thing a guy could be if you liked girls too?’

Silence. ‘But you knew, then. I mean, now I see it, with the way you look at Paul’

Paul blushed and John laughed. ‘Not exactly. I just fought against it, told myself it wasn’t real or something. That I only felt friendship, that I was too high, too confused, too something to be myself. I did later, though, in the seventies, but I was not going to act on it with all the fights going on. The bastard didn’t deserve me, y’know…’ Paul rolled his eyes and John smiled cheekily ‘Anyway, after Paul… died, I lost it all, y’know. I knew that I was attracted to guys, but I hadn’t realized I was in love with Paul. All my defenses came crushing down, and then nothing I did was worth doing, and I was but a shell of a man… until like, October’

Ringo nodded, silent before locking eyes with John again ‘It’s just, really weird. I think that if I were younger, I’d have a harder time believing this, but at this point I just… I’m ok with reality and lack of reality both and I’ll take what life gives me. So you being alive is not something I’ll have to deal with because I’m not going to bother to reason on it, just enjoy it. What really had me lost until now was you and Paul being together. And Paul being young; that also gives me headaches’

Paul smiled. ‘It’s still very weird to be young for me too, yes. And, to be honest, I hadn’t seen more than you had seen in my relationship with John up until very recently, really. I had thought it to be the strongest friendship I’ve ever experienced, but I didn’t consider it having more than one side. I guess the prejudice we lived in settled our minds to only one possibility’

They chuckled. ‘Yeah. Well, I’m glad that you seem to get along so well now. You did always complement each other exceptionally well, but now there seems to be less resistance and more peace, and that’s something really nice. I can feel it, the love, and love of any kind should be celebrated. Between any kinds of people. So whatever the fuck happened, I celebrate it for you two, guys’

The smile of relief that then blossomed in his friends’ faces, and the way their body relaxed into a more casual demeanor was hint enough of how much they appreciated those words. John smiled into his teacup, blushing, as Paul’s face seemed to brighten up and he looked up with excitement.

‘Ringo, you should be the one to marry us!’

They all froze, shocked. Before Ringo could answer, though, John’s voice rose with incredibility. ‘But we haven’t even fucked yet?’

Two long seconds of silence as Paul blushed passed before Barbara and Ringo erupted in laughter, followed by the flustered couple.

‘Well, I have no problem marrying you two, but I’m guessing John’s flower doesn’t want to wait to the honeymoon to be plucked, Paul’

Paul rolled his eyes, attempting to look nonchalant despite his fluster ‘We have a deal and John knows it. I’m not plucking his flower until he does his part’

‘First’ John’s voice rose up, annoyed yet amused ‘You don’t need to pluck any flower as the field has already been wiped clean’ Laughter erupted again, though Paul went even redder ‘And second, I’m on it! Although it makes no sense-’ ‘Yes it does!’ ‘Plus, how do you even know you like it? You want to marry me before plucking your own flower to see how you like it?’

‘Ok, let’s stop it with the analogies’ Paul laughed ‘John, I’m already stuck with you. I love you’ he hurried, and Ringo tried not to blink ‘And I’m glad I get to spend this time with you, more glad than I could ever be, but marrying won’t change our status much, now will it? Besides, I know I’ll like it’ John’s eyebrows rose.

‘Oh, do you?’ Paul nodded confidently. ‘I enjoy touching you way too much not to. Anyway…’

‘Ooh, c’mon, then why don’t you?’ John moaned, pouting.

‘What’s he got to do first?’ Barbara intervened, thoroughly entertained. Paul turned to them, looking smug.

‘Quit smoking, for one, and gain a healthy weight back, for two’

John groaned and covered his face with his hands. ‘He wants me to get fat so no one can steal me ‘cuz I’ll be too ugly to be wanted’ Paul threw his hands into the air, exasperated.

‘John, you’re not ugly! There’s like, no way in which you won’t look beautiful. I just want you to be able to enjoy food and be healthy again! I’m not fucking a self-depreciating bag of bones’ John pouted.

‘He’s right, you know’ Ringo intervened ‘You’re too skinny, man. You looked like shit when you came back in October (same as you did in 1980, to be honest), and now you look a little better. I’d listen to the god of beauty next to you’ John rolled his eyes but said nothing. ‘And smoking-wise, that’s a very good decision. Were you still smoking at 80? Are you an idiot?’

‘I’d stopped for a couple of decades before I restarted’ John muttered, annoyed.

‘If you get Paul to live another forty years with you but you only survive thirty due to your stupidity and leave him alone for the last ten I’ll murder you in heaven and then trash you to hell’

That seemed to get to John, who shifted uncomfortably on the sofa. ‘Plus’ Paul added ‘If you quit smoking gaining weight will be a natural consequence. It’s a win-win situation. C’mon, I just want you to be healthy, John’

John muttered something, flustered, and refuse to look at anyone in the eye, but judging by Paul’s triumphant eyes it had been the best response he’d gotten yet. Silently, the now 78-year-old lad who looked 38 held a bit of a piece of pie next to John’s mouth, who glared at him before sighing and opening his mouth. ‘You better still want me after I get all chubby’ he muttered after he swallowed.

Paul, who’d turned to the table, did a complete one-eighty and looked at his partner intensely in the eye when he said ‘Yes. John, no matter what, I’ll always want you. Always’ John turned red, but despite his obvious fluster, he answered in a dare ‘Then kiss me. Here, in front of them’

Even Barbara had expected some hesitation. Paul just dived right in as if he had been waiting to be invited, and John experienced heaven as he felt his soulmate’s soft but dominant lips on his, his warmth and calmness spreading through the movements of his mouth and the firm yet soft hand holding John’s jaw in place. He felt lifted and blessed, surrendered to Paul in a level more than physical. Surrendered to his own love for Paul.

Paul pulled out, staring right into those sincere and sensitive eyes. Staring right into his soulmate’s eyes. Because John felt his, and he felt John’s, and it was alright.

Ringo cleared his throat. ‘Well, lads, it’s been fun’

They turned bright red for the tenth time that afternoon.

Afterwards, when Ringo was lying in bed with Barbara, chatting about that kiss, Barbara whispered, amused.

‘Guess that Paul did want his flower plucked too’


	10. No Last Goodbyes.

John was having a crisis.

‘You look fine, for God’s sake, John’

‘It’s a lot tighter around my middle than when I bought it, Ringo. I’m like, bloated’

‘No, you’re not. You’re still thin, but now you look human again. John, you _well know_ that Paul will love it just this way”

John huffed. Indeed, John had had his flower plucked by his fiancé two nights ago, when he’d finally reached a healthy weight after ten months of snickering and suffering.

‘But now I’m _heavier_. I’m like, back in 1965’

‘No, you’re _absolutely not_ John for all of heaven’s sake you look beautiful, stop picking at it’ John stilled his hands and sighed.

‘You’re sure white…?’

‘White suits you _marvelously._ Doesn’t make you look fat at all. Now, c’mon, the car is about to leave and we’re _not_ missing your own wedding because you’re seeing things that aren’t there. C’mon’

John moaned in protest as Ringo dragged him to the door, keeping John’s hands from messing around even more with his perfect attire. _Just got to get him to Paul_ , Ringo thought. _Just wait ‘till Paul sees him, and he’ll feel confident again._

It had been a big announcement, really. The world had held its breath, waiting for a date that never came (only fools think they’re going to make it public, Ringo had thought as he read the headlines), and the press ate their nails in nervousness. Family and friends were present, and the ceremony turned out to be bigger than expected, though well-hidden in a church in the countryside. Funny how a church had eagerly accepted to celebrate a gay marriage when the spouses turned out to be Paul McCartney and John Lennon.

Paul was very nervous, standing by the altar and glancing at the crowd as the music began, trying not to smile like an idiot even before his fiancé appeared. Soon to be husband. _Husband. John was going to be his husband._

John entered the room, looking even more nervous than Paul and pulling down his white vest as he walked. He was wearing an all-white suit that Stella had had a blast designing: small white flowers covered all of the white vest at the front, as well as the jacket’s flops and around the elbows (he had wide sleeves at the elbows), and the translucent white shirt beneath it had flowers embroidered all over, as well as wavy cuffs that looked like flowers themselves. The bowtie sat majestic on John’s neck, and the trousers were tight and white, with translucent streaks at the sides that showed a bit of John’s lean legs, and the shoes were low enough to show the translucent embroidered socks John was wearing. Truly, they were half stockings, but that was only for Paul to find out that night.

But the best was John’s hair. His usually auburn hair looked almost red under the sunset, and it had grown just enough that it could be arranged in small delicate curls that held very small white flowers in them, as if planted by a fairy. He was carrying a bouquet of flowers of all kinds and colors, a contrast to the whiteness of the suit, and John’s eyes (he was wearing contacts that day) were lit by all of the world’s brightest miracles, shining directly inside Paul’s soul.

He tried not to tear up. He really did.

But when he extended his hand to help his beloved step on the altar with him, and he felt the soft surrender of John’s hand on his, John’s warm but hesitant grip on his and his determined yet almost shy eyes as they dig inside Paul’s, asking questions that didn’t need an answer… When John stepped next to him, and as Paul realized he would be his forever, something gave up inside of him and he pursued his lips, eyes never leaving John’s shining ones.

“What’s wrong?” John frowned slightly, worried “Are you ok?”

Paul nodded.

“I love you”

John smiled.

“Leave something for your vows”

…………………………………………………………………………………………

You should know, really, when you look at the sky and see them dancing around.

You should know, really, that it couldn’t have been any other way.

Even if Brenda hadn't chosen to rescue that specific puppy from the box full of puppies, it couldn’t have been any other way.

Some of them are just bound to be together, to be each other’s everything.

And even if they hadn’t married, you should know that.

They were lucky, those two. They shone too high, they were too loud in their affair, and the sun and the moon heard them dance and didn’t want them to stop.

_She,_ whatever her name, didn’t want them to stop, and they continued dancing.

But you should know, they weren’t the first (nor the last) resurrection case.

Just don’t tell them.


	11. Alternative Story - Author's Note

Hello, there! If you've read this far, thank you so much for your support! I really appreciate it :)

I made this note because a while back I said I was going to be re-writing this entire work as I felt it wasn't good as it was, and you should know I still feel the same. What happened, then? The re-writing got a bit out of hand and the result was almost a completely different story. The core idea remains the same: John and Paul reunite and get to have a second chance to be together for good. But how I get there is very different, as well as the writing (which gets a little bit more abstract? Poetic-like, I hope)

Anyway, should you wish to read this other story, it's called 'Resurrection' and it will soon be posted on this account. I still have to correct a couple of chapters before it's finished, but it's almost there.

But the present one, I thought it worth it to keep it as it is, and give it some closure (though, granted, it was a really short last chapter: I'm sorry, but I really had nothing left to say).

Thank you very much for reading and have a good day!

Link to the other story: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26332090/chapters/64123813

[Also, I just changed the song from the chapter 8 haha because I hated it. More of a poem now]


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